Grimnir Havadar: Before Skyrim
by PorcelainMyr
Summary: We all know the tale of the great Dovahkiin, but have you ever wondered about his past, and how he came to Skyrim? One-shot.


_Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the Elder Scrolls series, or any of its characters. This is purely a fan-based tale._

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My name is Grimnir Havadar, a Nord born in Skyrim twenty-five years past. But, Skyrim isn't my home and it hasn't been for the last eleven years. I am not familiar with its land, or it's people with their tiresome problems.

Having been sold to a tradesman not long after my fourteenth name day by my very own father, I was put to work on a merchants ship. We traded along the vast coasts of Tamriel and back again. At first my work involved stacking crates and scrubbing the decks. Beatings came often, work was hard and coin was sparse. But as I grew older, I became wiser to the workings of the ship and of the people who surrounded me. I discovered that you can glean much knowledge from simply observing others.

I was young and agile with great hearing and prying eyes. It didn't take long to realise who was useless and who was worthwhile, who was trustworthy and who wasn't, and I heard all the stories, secrets and falsehoods that slipped through their lips. Most importantly, I learned who could teach a boy to be strong and independent, to wield a sword like a grown man.

Initially I had no desire to learn how to fight, it never crossed my young mind, until I witnessed Captain Krell take a woman's life with his bare hands. I had been peeping through a keyhole, curious as to why one of the female cooks was alone with the Captain in his quarters. Of course I had an inkling, but I wasn't prepared for what I actually saw.

I hadn't been thinking of all the rules I had broken during my discovery, the curfew I was violating as I fled to Guardmaster Likke, delirious with fright and breathless with sheer panic. He had been sleeping when I burst into his room to tell him what I had just witnessed. He listened carefully, visibly stunned upon hearing the news himself and then calmed me down with a tankard of mead before sending me back to my room.

As days passed by, I watched Likke do nothing about the Captain and at first, my childish mind believed he had forgotten. That was until he summoned me to his quarters, perhaps a fortnight later.

Little did I know I was to become a pawn in someone's game as Likke began training me nightly in the art of sword-fighting. I had been under the impression that I was being made a man, learning to protect myself in case Krell decided to turn on me. Nearly nine months had passed when the Guardmaster handed me a pouch, heavy with more coin than I had ever seen. I finally accepted it on the condition I put an end to Krell's life.

My courage dwindled and I almost thought myself unable to do such a thing, until the Captain beat me bloody one evening for confusing two crates, which had in turn, cost him some coin. Only then, when I was fuelled by my resentment and hatred, I took my blade to the old bastards neck while he slept.

I hadn't thought I would have felt regret or shame, yet when I did, I felt so alone, sick with disgust at myself. Once more I went to Likke to let him know I had done his bidding and deep down, I wanted comforting. To be told that I had done the right thing.

He had simply smiled and handed me my promised pouch of gold, even though I no longer wanted it, before suggesting I go to bed.

Not even an hour later I was dragged from my room and down into the cold, damp brig by two ferocious guards. And as they shut the iron bars of a cell behind me, I knew then I had been used, set up and betrayed by the only person I had ever trusted.

By the time we reached the Abecean Sea, Likke, being the highest ranking person on the ship, had made himself Captain. He had me exiled on the coast of Cyrodiil, in the town of Anvil, to be precise. Hollow and exhausted from my plight, I couldn't even feel hatred for him any more as he handed me the familiar short-sword that I had learnt with.

'I hope you'll survive, boy.'

Those had been the very last words Likke had uttered to me before he turned back to the ship and left for good.

I never considered his reasons for wanting Krell dead. Perhaps it was for power, or revenge. Nor could I understand why he had me do it, or why he didn't just throw me overboard into the middle of the ocean once I had. Those things I will never understand. However, I do believe I grew up stronger and quicker for it.

I had used my murder coin to rent a room in the cheapest Inn I could find, fed myself and slept for what was perhaps days. I learnt a lot about people from wandering around Anvil, though hardly knew what to do with myself. I trusted no one and grew ever more wary upon the discovery I had been robbed one morning. The first time I caught a pickpocket with his hand in my satchel, I simply acted on impulse and broke two of his fingers.

I became braver as the months went on and I ventured where I hadn't dared go at first. It didn't take long to realise I was strong and capable enough to stand up for myself. I got to know people. Made enemies as well as friends, others I took to my bed and many I never saw again. When I was sixteen, I even took to sharing a small property with three others, once I trusted them enough.

When my coin had began to dwindle, I found myself doing odd jobs for people, simple errands about town. I don't remember when it happened, but I eventually became a sellsword of sorts and I had earned enough coin to travel by the age of eighteen.

I never settled down and took myself from place to place, town to town as my work demanded it. The roads were perilous and the forests even more so, but it made me stronger and fiercer with every slain beast and foe. I collected debts, acted as an escort and delivered important messages and goods, for a price. Some of the work was dangerous, some of it just easy coin, yet I did not mind either way.

Not many years later, a tidy sum was offered to me for my services in The Imperial City, whilst savouring the finest mug of mead I had ever tasted. I do not know how this dark elf had come to find me and he would not share that information. I've always been distrustful of elves, and I didn't appreciate his silken clothes, powdered face, nor his aloofness. Yet, I did fancy the gold-heavy pouch he placed into my palm. The agreement was a pouch like this, per month.

For that price, I was to become his secret protector. He was forever guarded, I was not allowed to be seen with him and even behind closed doors, he did not speak to me as an equal, but as a servant. Often-times I thought he'd forgotten that I was the one with a sword and the gift to use it. But, his payments were enough to keep my blade sheathed and my mouth shut.

The elf's name was Trewin and he was a member of the Great Council. His words had great power over the City's workings and his pockets were heavy with gold for it. But, beneath the smiles and boldness, unbeknownst to his fellow friends of the Imperial City, he was in trouble with the wrong sort. Trapped in a spider-web of calamity involving a group of undesirables and he could not pull himself free. How he had become in such a state, he would not divulge, and in truth, I could hardly care as long as I got paid.

From Hearth Fire, last year to this Last Seed, I was in his service, until the eve a final offer was made, in the very same Inn we had first met. Without a doubt, this man who sat before me that night was one of the undesirables. He had a great tangle of a beard and thick muscles beneath mercenaries leathers. But, it was the three bags of coin that caught my attention as much as the dagger at his hip.

I listened to his honeyed words, as I had listened to others speak them on the ship and as I had in the past, I believed none of them. A simple payment to hand over Trewin and that is that. I took the coin and weighed it in my hands, disappointed to discover it was little more than I earned in two months and declined his offer, much to his disappointment.

As I left the Inn that evening, I found a blade pressed against my throat and a man at my back. The one from earlier stepped up in front of me, making it clear that I also had a bounty upon my head for simply being in their way. This I did not know, but I found myself hardly surprised. No one knew what my employer told me behind closed doors, nor would anyone believe me if I admitted I was oblivious. So, I kept my peace, until he pierced my cheek with the blade I had seen on his persons only minutes before. This prompted me to act, on impulse of course, and I took it upon myself to remove them from the equation. Their bodies I disposed of into the sewers before making my way back home.

The second unexpected turn of events that evening were the four dead men I found in the parlour upon my arrival. That night, like many nights before, I had been ordered by my employer to leave for an hour so he could conduct one of his regular meetings. When I returned, Trewin lay dead at my feet, alongside three other council members, their warm blood still pooling on the cold stone floor.

I took my leave then. Gathered my sword, my leathers, some medicine for my fresh, stinging wound and my pouch of gold, as well as any coin that happened to be laying out. I also packed some food before departing.

The Imperial City, I put behind me and headed north, helping myself to a horse from the stable as I went. The hastier I left Cyrodill the better, preferably before sunrise when the guards would surely be alerted to the massacre. If I left now, I hoped I would be forgotten. If the rebels knew I was Trewin's secret guard, then others might too.

The night was still young and the moon was bold and bright to light my way, which I was thankful for. It didn't take long before I decided upon Skyrim, the homeland I scarcely remember. I hadn't much gold and I had no furs to keep me warm. But I had a good steed, plenty of food and most importantly, the ability to fight.

It had taken me until dawn to reach the mountains. By then, I had helped myself to a Redguard's belongings after he had stopped me and demanded a toll or my head. The fur cloak he had worn about his shoulders was matted, and stained with blood and dirt, but it was warm compared to the finer clothes I had been donned in by my late employer. Eventually, my horse had fatigued and the snowy slopes had become too steep for her to climb, so I left her to proceed on foot. I had never been inland this far, the paths had long since snowed over and were hard to follow, so I was relieved when I met another Nord who seemed to know these perilous mountains.

I thought the Gods had been smiling upon me then, as he too was looking to discreetly cross the border, for reasons he left unsaid. I did not care to ask and nor did he of me. His business was his own, as my business was mine.

We travelled up the mountainside together and having stumbled upon an abandoned camp, we cooked a small breakfast of rabbit stew, before continuing onwards. By then, the sun was shimmering in the morning sky, but it's heat did not reach us here. The cold still bit at my exposed flesh and the snow had soaked into my leather shoes and numbed my feet until I could no longer feel them.

When we reached Pale Pass, I could see why he so easily accepted my company. I was a great deal better with a blade than he was, and the great white wolves that stalked us poised no trouble for me to eradicate. But it was the frost trolls that stilled my sword. Never before had I seen one of these hulking great beasts, with their thick wrinkled flesh and patches of matted fur, as pale as their environment. At first, I did not see them. It was only the red stain in the snow that halted my companion's footsteps and he took me from the path to hide amongst the thorny bracken. From there we watched three of them fight over a single carcass, roaring and swinging their great limbs about, with the sole intention to injure.

I do not know how long we waited, but as the cold was settling into my bones, the trolls eventually bound away to the west and when their cries grew quieter, we set off once more. Only with a little more haste.

We had encountered one more troll, before we reached the border, yet this one was oblivious to our presence and easy enough to avoid by keeping to the dense foliage and joining the track when it was well and truly out of sight.

As our feet touched the cold, hard earth of Skyrim in the early afternoon, all feeling of relief I had felt was soon vanquished as my gaze fell upon perhaps eight, or ten Imperial soldiers. They were stationed on the side of the road in a makeshift camp, sat around the warmth of a small crackling fire and clutching at tankards of mead. I didn't fail to realise that they looked as surprised as we felt.

I feared at once that they had been waiting for me alone, but as they questioned our business for crossing at an illegal point, rather than through a border gate, I realised that was not the case. They were the Border Watch, securing the cracks in their perimeter, catching immigrants like ourselves, and nothing more.

Yet, with a few suspicious stares at my travelling companion, and following a barrage of questions, they seized him and bound his wrists. 'Stormcloak scum' is what they called him and in response, he struggled, cursed and spat at them.

'You wait 'til Ulfric sits on that throne. He'll have e'ry last one of yer heads!' I remember the fire in his eyes when he spoke, yet I also remember the tears when they tied his mouth tight with a filthy gag and kicked him into the ground.

'Are you with the Stormcloaks, offender?'

I knew of no Ulfric, or Stormcloaks. But, I did realise then that I seemed to have a penchant for inadvertently becoming entangled in rancid situations.

I denied the question and instead offered my gold in return for my passing. They took my gold, as well as my sword, my clothes and my freedom. I was arrested for violation of law and transported with my unconscious companion on the back of a horse-drawn cart to a tall, stone tower not so far away. That was the last I saw of him.

Argonians, khajiit, orcs, elves and humans of different races were all prisoners here. Some young and others aged, their crimes all varying. I do not know how long I was there for. But I watched and waited as people came on one cart and eventually left on another. I remember being sat on the cold stone floor, dressed in a roughspun tunic and feeling only the warmth of others beside me, our arms pressed together in the confines of one busy room.

With the passing time, I considered what my fate may be. I asked myself if I could have perhaps ran my sword through each and every one of those Imperial Guards before they took me. Yet, as soon as I thought it, I dismissed the idea. I had no armour and I was weary from my travels. Even the simple act of walking had been slow and painful, hindered by the cold which stiffened my joints.

Eventually, I was given a small loaf of bread and a cup of ice cold water, and it helped my stomach to cease it's painful, twisting and my hands shook a little less. Though, my body still ached and my eyelids drooped heavily after that, and when sleep came I did not fight it. I knew I would need my strength for when I awoke.

I felt better believing that illegally crossing the border wasn't punishable by death. And most importantly of all, I wasn't a Stormcloak.

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_(AN: If you reached this far, I just want to say thanks for reading, guys!)_


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